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Showing posts with label Sun. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sun. Show all posts

Saturday, February 6, 2021

Observation - February 6th, 2021, Saturday

It is cold outside, but the sun is shining

 

The sky is striped, blue and white

 

I can feel the cold coming, seeping through the windows

 

The sun’s light through wavey glass

 

Snow clings to the limbs of my tree

 

Each flake a tiny prism from which the sun light leaps

 

And there is hope, today in America…there is hope




Monday, October 5, 2020

Observation - October 5th, 2020, Monday

 

The air is warm this morning

Unseasonably warm for October

My windows are open

And Kitty is talking about rabbits

In the quiet morning

Beneath the cool blue sky

The sun still below the horizon

As Venus fades quickly in the light




Sunday, July 5, 2020

Observation - July 5th, 2020, Saturday


It is late in the afternoon

In the condo all the shades are drawn down

The unwelcome sun is beating

Hard on the bricks and brownstone

The air conditioner fills the empty space

Cool air and ambient noise

Kitty is curled up and sleeping

Sunday, April 5, 2020

Observation - April 5th, 2020, Sunday


The house smells of peppers

And garlic and onions

The rising sun lights up the sky

Soft blue, almost white

The street is quiet, quieter than usual

So quiet I can hear the gears turning

In the empty bus that rolls by

The birds have noticed the change

The fox and the coyote too

There are fewer people to contend with

Fewer cars and people walking

Fewer things to fear

Tuesday, January 15, 2019

Washed


The hot breeze, pushing
Sight narrows in the salted mist, the acrid air

The sea thundering as the rolling tide retreats
The shore expanding

The empty space fills
Bodies in the sun, clamoring birds on the beach

All their waste and refuse gathering in the sand
The bones of the world

Plastic straws and paper wraps, aluminum cans
Washed out in the sun

Taken in the tide
The oceans rising, sweeping, steeping all the trash

Listen for the tide, the tide returning, the sea
Roaring in my ear

Listen for the dirge
A song for a dying world, the pipes are calling

Melodies for funerals, burials, lament
The poisoned sea

The breeze is hot, sour
The shore has putrefied, stinking with rot, cancer

Walk along the diseased shoreline, death in each step
Walk into the rising sea

Into the salted brine crying seagulls
Scattered in the waves

Into the acid bath, dissolved and disappeared
Taken in the fog

Sunday, June 3, 2018

Observation - June 3rd, 2018, Sunday


Observation


The Twins are tied in the bottom of the eighth

I can smell the cut grass through the open window

My lady is out front pushing the mower

I can hear it rattle, in a rhythm with my typing

The hum of traffic flowing by on Bryant

Kitty is on her bench looking at the action

The Twins exit the eighth without advancing

The sun is bright and the air is cool, afternoon

Sunday, April 1, 2018

Easter


When I was a child Easter always came in conjunction with a week off from school, Spring Break.

Spring Break always came with Eastertide, but in the public schools were not allowed to call it Easter Break, on account of the separation between church and state. I am not sure when it happened, but at some point those conventions began to change, school boards stopped planning the spring break to coincide with Easter.

Perhaps this was due to a sensitivity to such constitutionally required separations, or maybe it was just because the Easter festivities follow an erratic cycle. It is our lunar holiday.

Easter, like Passover, follows Selene, the wandering Titaness, the silvery-moon.

Sometimes Easter comes as late as my birthday, April 22nd, Earth Day, other times it is as early as my sister Raney’s birthday, March 28th. In those years, when we were growing up we were able to experience the sense of being overlooked that other kids feel whose birthdays fall on holidays like Christmas or New Year’s Eve, Thanksgiving or Halloween.

In one sense Easter is about the palette of pastels, the donning of spring garments, the greening lawns and budding trees. It is about hard-boiled eggs died and hidden, and it is about jelly beans, chocolates and other candies.

There is an Easter feast, ham being the most common thing on the Easter table.

For many people Easter has little to do with the commemoration of the risen Christ, which is at the root of the holiday. Jesus, the new lawgiver leading the people to a new promised land.

When we were young we would always watch the Cecil B. De Mill epic, The Ten Commandments, featuring Charleton Heston as Moses, leading the people from bondage.

It was a tradition that more clearly connected the Christian holiday to the Jewish Passover than any sermon I ever heard in church.

My family did not go to church on Easter, we hardly ever went to church at all.

For many folks, Easter marks the equinox, a celebration of the change in the light, from the dark days of winter, to the brightening of the day. Whereas at solstice in winter we celebrate the lengthening of the day and the light’s return, at the equinox in spring we celebrate the rising of the sun’s arch, the increased warmth, and the thawing of the fields.

Easter and the equinox are slightly out of step, but the spring ritual is the same nevertheless.

Easter is a celebration of the risen Christ, it is a celebration of the power of life, over death the expectation of summer, planting and hope for the future.


Friday, June 2, 2017

Observation - June 2nd, 2017, Friday

The morning sun is streaming in through my kitchen window

Reflecting off a stack of boxes against my book case

The morning sun is bright, and flashing

The day promises to be sunny hot

There is a for sign in the yard next to the sidewalk

It says for sale

I anticipate the footfall of strangers

Walking through my domicile

There are transition coming, I can see them

My cat is sleeping blissfully

Unaware


Tuesday, November 1, 2016

November 1st, 2016, Tuesday - Observation

Observation


It is morning. Dark in Autumn.

The house is stirring.

I hear the creaking of footsteps on the floor boards above me.

The news anchors chattering on the T.V.

There is one week to go before the election, a new president. There is fear, and uncertainty in the country.

She and I are talking about our changing lives.

She talks just as much to me, as to the cat, sitting behind me on the blanket on the chair.

Outside, the maples have dropped their leaves, a bright yellow carpet laid over the yard.


Today the sun is promised.  

Saturday, October 1, 2016

October 1st, 2016, Saturday

Observation

It is noon, the autumn sun is bright,

And silver.

My cat is sitting on her blanket in the window;

Soaking the soft light into her soft tawny fur.

The news talkers are chattering as I type;

Trump, trumpet, strumpet, hype.

I am tired; from three weeks straight of working.

My sweetheart is in the garden; weeding.


I hear her talking with neighbors as they stroll by.

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

Observation - June 1st, Wednesday, 2016

Observation

The sun has come up.

She is sleeping. Her head on the pillow; a soft copper cloud.

There are birds singing in the morning light, in hushed tones; a whisper of whistles.

The rabbits are gathered on the lawn, pushing their noses through the Creeping Charlie.


Foraging, at the dawn; the metal scrappers push carts down the alley, in a jangle and clattering song.

Sunday, May 1, 2016

May 1st, 2016, Sunday - Observation

It is finally warm.

My windows are open, my cat is basking in the sun.

The sound of a chainsaw intermittently buzzing comes into the house.

It is May Day and I skipped the parade.

My neighbors are outside cleaning.


I am inside thinking of a nap, like my cat in the sun.

Friday, April 1, 2016

April 1st, 2016, Friday - Observation

The April sun streams
Today is a day of fools
And birds clamoring

Gravity bends sunlight
Striking soft, the rounded world
It is cool outside

Kitty is sleeping
Twitching, dreaming of bird friends
Feathered play and bones

Withered apples fall
Dark red fruit cast to the ground

As small as cherries